In the beginning, there was snow.
And the snow begat snowplows, snowblowers,
snow shovelers and very large pick-up
trucks with blades. And the snowplows,
snowblowers, snow shovelers and
very large pick-up trucks
with blades begat snow berms.
And the snow berms begat -- BERMTOPIA.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Big ears

Note: I'm not sure I've ever properly explained the concept behind "Big Ears." It's just that, ever since I was little, I've had the superhuman ability to shamelessly eavesdrop on multiple conversations going on around me. Yeah, call Marvel Comics. Its new, potentially most awesome character ever, The Listener, is in the room.

But anyway. Early in our courtship, the Wonderfully Patient Spouse found this unsettling and sometimes even a little annoying. Today, after 35 years of wedded bliss, I believe he thinks its one of my most attractive qualities.

So tonight.

What's not to like about a group of 6-year-old somethings and a big bad-ass pick-up truck? They've been playing on it and around it like flies on a, well, you know. As I sit here at my computer I've watched them act out numerous high-drama scenarios involving bazookas, hand grenades, swords, ropes, death rays and a few new weapons of mass destruction that frankly I'm too old to be familiar with. The truck has served as a WWII bunker, starship and Fort Apache -- in no particular order, and sometimes I think, simultaneously. The only thing missing? A couple of them dressed up like Zorro, wearing their moms' rain boots. Now those were the days.

So, the evening is wearing down and the troops have congregated in the bed of the big bad-ass pick-up truck. One small warrior -- skinny as the dickens with the most amazing head of blond hair -- has commanded the group's attention. He is clearly trying to make AN IMPORTANT POINT. His gesticulating -- and voice -- are larger than life.

"NO! It's spelled R - A- I - N!"

Pause.

"That means you're IN CHARGE."

The evening ends in semi-tragedy. Our young hero is whacked a titch too hard by a light saber. Bawling, he runs toward the house with his little buddies scampering after him, crying "Sorry!"

And, on cue, the middle school brother and his posse come around the corner singing out loud, covering Bon Jovi.

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Bermtopia: My home town

A self-avowed winterphobe negotiates the seasons, kitchens, gardens and dogs formerly in Bermtopia (an idyllic little burg in the hinterlands of eastern Washington) and NOW in The Beav, a suburban mecca just outside Portland, Ore. Bermtopia was occasionally cursed with snow (which how this blog came to be) -- and The Beav with rain, but both are always, relentlessly, entertaining -- my hometowns.

And, yes, I occasionally cook -- and am more than happy to tell you about it at http://becauseisaidsokitchen.blogspot.com